


Like a Phoenix You Rise from the Ashes

by veleda_k



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Post-Finale, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:59:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veleda_k/pseuds/veleda_k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the finale. Sara gets a mysterious envelope in the mail, one that contains a second chance, if she wants to take it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Phoenix You Rise from the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sheenianni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheenianni/gifts).



> The title is from Eric's Song, by Vienna Teng.

Sara's first thought when she gets the call from Peter is, _We keep doing this_. Somehow, she and Neal are always leaving each other. And it's just like Caffrey to find a way to get the last word.

The thing about loss is that each one is different. Neal's death isn't like Emily's disappearance. It doesn't feel like her parents' death. Part of her is used to losing Neal, and another part of can't believe that this time he won't be coming back. Isn't that what they're supposed to do? No matter how many times they leave each other, somehow they always come back.

Not this time.

She almost skips the funeral. Her grief is her own affair. But in the end she goes for Peter.

“Where's Mozzie?” Sara asks Peter after most of the mourners have left. There were a lot of them. Plenty of people had fallen for the Caffrey charm. 

Peter makes a sound Sara can't quite identify. “Mozzie... didn't see the point of coming. He thinks this is unnecessary.”

“He thinks Neal is still alive,” Sara realizes. Oh, Mozzie.

“I can't blame him, not entirely. I'm half waiting for Neal to show up,” Peter admits to her “He'll come out from behind a tree and reveal it was all a con.”

“I know,” Sara says quietly. She's been thinking the same thing. 

Peter places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You should call me if you need anything.”

Sara gives a very small smile. “I will if you will.”

And of course neither of them ever do.

The truth about grief is that life goes on despite it. Sterling Bosch clients do not stop losing their property. Sara still has a job to do, and she does that job very well. Sara finds work easy and feelings difficult. However inane it is, it's still true. But old habits hurt in new ways. Particularly clever cases have always made her think of Neal, but now each reminder brings a stab of pain. _Neal wouldn't have gone through the roof,_ she thinks. _Everyone was expecting the roof. He'd have conned his way through the front door._ Imagining Neal's wave of conman charm makes her smile, and then she wishes she hadn't.

Sara would give every Raphael in the world to have Neal back, and only Neal would know how much that means.

Still, it's not as if her life changes, not really. She no longer has the occasional emails from Neal, but other than that she does all the same things she did before, which is mostly working, but also includes daily trips to her favorite coffee shop, and the cooking class she signed up for on a whim that so far hasn't been a complete disaster.

Part of her thinks more should change. Were they really so little to each other that her life can go on unimpeded? But she knows it doesn't really work like that. Neal becomes another piece of her that never quite leaves, next to Emily and her parents, a piece that whispers to her in art museums and reminds her to have some _fun_ every once in a while.

The weeks do what weeks do and turn into months, and the months creep ever closer to a year. Since Neal died Sara has learned to make pasta primavera, almost had a boyfriend (he was too needy), and given Sterling Bosch London its highest ever recovery rate. Under other circumstances, it would not have been a bad year. If only Sara didn't still find herself imagining how much better Neal's pasta would be.

But she's used it to it. Sara's always been good at accepting reality. It was Neal who could never accept things as they were.

So she's not prepared for the envelope that shows up in her mailbox. The only writing is her name written in elegant but unfamiliar script, and that, even without the lack of postmark, means someone definitely hand delivered it. Sara's last attempt at romance was not the type to leave random notes, which leaves stalker or letter bomb. Either way, Sara takes it to Sterling Bosch to get it tested.

It's not a letter bomb. It's a piece of heavy cardstock, and though it's the size of a traditional postcard, it's hand painted with obviously expensive paint.

The painting is unmistakably a postcard sized version of Raphael's St. George and the Dragon.

Explanations run through Sara's head, ranging from an enemy trying to hurt her, to a very cruel prank, to an incredibly unlucky choice in random presents. Again and again she tries to reject to simplest explanation, but she can only deny it so long. 

It's just like him, really. Of course Neal Caffrey would con death.

On the other side of the card is nothing but a phone number. The message is obvious: the next move is up to her. Sara has little doubt that if she fails to call that number, she'll never see Neal again. (Though she can't be sure he won't see her.) In his own, incredibly messed up, way, Neal is giving her a choice.

Except there's no choice at all. If Neal is alive then Sara _has_ to know, if only so she can kill him properly.

She almost calls Peter, but stops herself. She isn't sure, can't possibly be sure until Neal is standing front of her, and the idea of giving Peter false hope is unbearably cruel.

Sara thinks she should wait a week before calling the number. She should consider all the possibilities and make sure she isn't doing anything too rash. Instead, she calls as soon as she returns from work. Neal has always brought out her reckless side.

The phone rings barely once. “Sara?” And it _is_ Neal's voice, more tentative than she's used too, but unmistakably his.

“Neal?” It shouldn't be a question, but it is.

“It's me,” he says softly.

And then Sara finds herself crying, and she hates crying. “You bastard,” is all she can get out. “You bastard.”

“Sara,” Neal is speaking to her like she's an easily spooked wild animal. “I'd like to meet. There's too much to say on the phone, but you deserve to know everything.”

“I deserve a hell of a lot more than that,” Sara chokes out.

“You always have,” Neal tells her. There's too much tenderness in his voice, and now Sara is crying even harder, and she really, really hates him.

“We can meet,” Sara says as calmly as she can. At first, she thinks to meet on neutral ground- some coffee shop or restaurant- but she changes her mind. “You know where I live. Come by Saturday at noon.” There's a frightening intimacy to having Neal in her flat, but this way she'll has the home field advantage. This is her space, not Neal's. She doesn't know what kind of edge that will get her against a chameleon like Neal, but it's something. Besides, this way she can shout as much as she likes. 

Saturday takes forever to come, or it feels like it does. Sara considers it a triumph of her professionalism that she does her job just the same. Everyone knows Sara Ellis doesn't take personal days. Her ex-boyfriend coming back from the dead isn't going to change that.

She keeps picking up the phone to call Peter, but every time she puts in down. She wants to, she should, but part of her still doesn't believe it's true, and it would hurt so much to be wrong. Once she sees Neal, then she'll know. Then she'll tell the whole damn world if she feels like it.

It's only when Saturday actually arrives that Sara admits she has no idea how to handle this. Is she supposed to have coffee ready? Wine? This isn't like having a guest over. She can't say Neal deserves any consideration. She makes coffee anyway, to give herself something to do.

Her intercom buzzes at noon exactly. Neal always was punctual. She doesn't say anything, just buzzes him in, so it better be Neal. Then she just has to wait until the knock on her door comes.

When it does come, she hesitates before answering. She has to know, but she's not sure if she's ready. Then again, she never will be.

Neal is standing there when Sara opens the door. It's not a trick or a delusion. A piece of her hadn't believed it until right now. She swallows. “You should come in.”

Neal does. “Thanks.” He looks nervous. Sara can't remember ever seeing him so genuinely unsure. He looks like he's about to say something, but stops. When was the last time Neal was at a loss for words? (Sara remembers Neal on his knees at the Empire State Building, then banishes the image.)

If Neal's not going to be the first to speak, Sara will have to. “You could start with an explanation.”

Neal nods. “I wanted to protect all of you.” He launches into an explanation of his last case with the FBI. It's a dizzying story. He finishes with a sad shrug. “If I died, there'd be no need for revenge. No one would come after you. So I died.”

Sara gives herself a moment to take it all in. Finally, she says, “And that was your only option, I take it?”

Neal looks at his hands. “It made sense at the time.”

Sara can't help it. A small, sharp rush of laughter escapes from her. “Oh, I'll bet. I think the things you want always make sense to you.”

Neal glares. It's a sudden change from his previously solicitous behavior. “Do you think I wanted to leave New York? Leave Peter, and Mozzie, and June? Do you think I wanted to hurt all of you?”

Sara suddenly feels very sad. “Neal, I don't think you ever want to hurt anyone. And yet it keeps happening.”

Neal's anger collapses as quickly as it came on. He buries his face in his hands. “It did make sense at first. And then it was the plan, and I wasn't sure how to stop it. And I had to be sure. I wanted everyone to be safe.”

Sara sighs. “Oh, Neal.” How can anyone so smart be so stupid? This is where a properly comforting person would find something appropriately consoling to say, even if she's not yet sure he deserves it. All Sara knows to do is push a cup of coffee in Neal's hands. At least it's something for him to focus on. Sara sits down and encourages Neal to do the same. “Does Peter know?” she asks.

Neal nods. “And Mozzie too. Mozzie's actually in the city. Peter had to go back to New York. He can only take so many days off. And he has a baby to look after.” After the last sentence, Neal looks like he's going to cry. 

“I assume you're going to go back to New York.”

Neal nods. “I don't really know what I'm going to do long term, but I need to go back. I owe it to everyone.”

“Damn right you do.”

Neal looks at her intently. “I owe a lot to you too.”

Sara shrugs. “But I'm the only one in London. Everyone else is in New York. And besides, it's not like we were so close. I'm just your ex--” And then something overtakes Sara, and she's crying, not a little bit, but great sobs. She's never cried like this for Neal.

Neal is there in an instant with his arms around her. Part of Sara wants to shove him away, while another part of her wants him to never let go. In the end, she just lets him hold her.

“You're not just anything, Repo,” Neal says softly, and of course that makes Sara cry harder, dammit. 

“This is so embarrassing,” Sara manages to choke out.

Neal laughs slightly. “That's very you.” Sara can hear how fond his voice is. 

When Sara finally composes herself, she allows herself to remain in Neal's arms a few moments longer, before moving away. Neal backs up obligingly. “You need to go,” she tells him. Neal nods solemnly. “I'll call you,” Sara says after thinking about it. Neal's expression becomes a tad more hopeful. Sara tries not to think too much about what it all means.

Neal sees himself out. Sara stays seated. She needs to think. She needs to figure out what this all means. It seems absurd to go about the rest of her day as if nothing has changed, but there's no other option. The world didn't stop turning when Neal died, and it hasn't stopped now that he's alive again.

Sara waits three days before calling Neal again. It takes her that long to sort out all the emotions roaring in her and to settle into this new reality. It's a better reality. No matter how angry she was, Sara is still so glad that Neal is alive. But it's still strange.

She invites him for dinner that night. “I can cook now,” she tells him.

“Oh, this I have to see,” Neal responds.

Sara would really like to be indignant at that, but she has to acknowledge it's fair. “Come over tonight and you will.”

“I'll be there.”

Sara hangs up and smiles. Then it hits her how easily she'd fallen back into their familiar routine, the same old affectionate banter. It shouldn't be so easy. Nothing about this should be easy. But why should she want it to be hard? There's no good answer.

Pasta and sauce is still the only dish Sara really feels confident about, so she sticks to basic marinara. If she tried anything any more elaborate, she risked ruining it. Not that Neal would mock her. Or even complain. He'd cheerfully eat anything she served, which would be worse. Sara briefly wonders why she loves someone who seems so designed aggravate her.

Had loved. She used to love him. Before... everything.

At least it's easier waiting for Neal this time, now that she's sure he's real. Still, there's a tension in Sara that doesn't let up until Neal is actually inside her flat.

Neal's a little less uncertain this time, which Sara ultimately takes as a good thing. A bit more groveling wouldn't be out of place, but a Neal who isn't sure of himself just isn't Neal.

Sara opens a bottle of wine right away. They have so much to talk about, but talking isn't coming easily. It's a strange and uncomfortable state of affairs. Even when she and Neal couldn't stand each other, they certainly never lacked words.

“How's work?” Neal asks. Sara can tell from the look that comes over his face that he realizes how trite a question that is.

“Work is good,” Sara replies, because apparently she's going for trite as well.

The silence is awkward, but Sara realizes it isn't terrible. She never thought she'd be in the same room with Neal again. Just that is incredible. Even so, she's relieved when the pasta turns al dente.

Neal's eyes widen in surprise after he takes his first bite. “This is good,” he tells her.

Sara's eyes narrow. “Careful, Caffrey. You sound a little too surprised.”

Neal starts to stammer out an apology, but it's cut off when he starts laughing. And that gets Sara laughing, which leads to both of them sitting together, laughing helplessly over something that was only barely funny to begin with. Still, after that, the tension isn't quite as heavy.

After dinner, Sara loads the dishes in the dishwasher. She and Neal move to the couch with fresh glasses of wine. There's silence again, but it's contemplative.

“I'm still mad at you,” Sara says softly. Neal only nods. “You died, Neal,” Sara continues. “You know how much it hurts to lose someone you love. Why would you do that to us?”

“They would have killed you. All of you. People keep dying because they know me, and I couldn't let it happen again. You can hate me for the rest of your life, as long as you're alive to do it.”

“It wasn't just your decision.” Most of Sara's anger has faded for the moment. Right now she's mostly tired and sad.

“I know. I'm sorry.”

Sara lets out a very small huff of laughter. “That's the first time you've said that.”

Neal has the decency to look sheepish at that. “I hope it was implied.”

“It's nice to hear it.” Sara is quiet for a long moment. “After you came back from Cape Verde, I realized something. I realized that you were always going to hurt me.” Neal looks like he's going to protest, and Sara holds up a hand to stop him. “Not because you meant to or wanted to, but because it's part of who you are. I also realized that you're loyal, devoted, kind, funny, and I'm going to stop now because your ego doesn't need any help. I wanted you in my life. I certainly wasn't expecting you to pull something like this, but I knew I'd be hurt again. And I still let you in again. You have to let us make our own choices.”

“I'm getting that.”

“I don't hate you.” Sara can't hate Neal, not anymore.

“Thank you.” Neal brings his hand closer to Sara's, not quite touching her.

“You're going to leave soon, aren't you?” It hurts, but Sara knows it's coming.

Neal nods. “I haven't seen Elizabeth yet, or June. And Peter needs to see me come home. But Sara,” Neal turns and meets her eyes, “I'm not wearing a tracking anklet any longer. I'm not confined to New York. I'll be back, as long as you'll have me.”

Sara smiles. “Try calling next time, rather than leaving clues in my mailbox.”

“I'll remember that.”

Sara leans her head against Neal's shoulder. She hopes it comes off as casual, and that her anxiety and fear don't show. From the way Neal leans into her, she knows she made the right decision. They stay that way, quiet and intimate for a long time. But Sara can't ignore time forever, and eventually she realizes she's about the fall asleep on the couch, which she'd definitely regret in the morning.

Neal's senses it, in his mysterious way. “I should probably go,” he says as he stands.

Sara follows. “I guess you should.” At the door, she puts her hand on his arm. “I missed you, Caffrey.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Just come back. It doesn't have to be right away, but come back.”

“For you? Always.”

As much as Sara tries to be practical, she has an impulsive streak. And right now, after everything, she's not interested in risking regrets. So she kisses Neal, just barely.

Neal reaches out and very gently brushes his fingers against her hair. “I missed you too, Repo. I'll be back.”

“Better be soon, Caffrey. I'm not waiting for you.” But Sara says it with a smile.

Neal smiles back. “I'll keep that in mind.”

And then he's out the door. Sara goes back and finishes her wine. She needs it.

No matter how many times they leave each other, somehow they come back. Maybe not every time. Maybe not next time. But this time, yes. Somehow they managed it. 

Neal will be back. Sara believes that. And maybe she'll wait. Just a little while.


End file.
